


Broken hearted heart breaker

by TheLockPickingVictorian



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLockPickingVictorian/pseuds/TheLockPickingVictorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the times like these when he couldn’t decide which hurt more; keeping his distance, or being so close to her and constantly having to remind himself not to do anything, no matter how much he wanted it. What was the point of clutching her as close as he could, loving her the way he wanted to, if she regretted it in six months time, bleeding out in his arms, fighting to live purely so she could get away from him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken hearted heart breaker

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I hate the ending of this, but I couldn't think of another way to end it without continuing until the end of time. But I love some of this; some of this is the best stuff I've ever written, I think. But still, that's up to you.  
> Sorry.  
> 

Just like his ability to notice every detail in a room, Oliver was also a self proclaimed master at ignoring things when he chose to be. But when the entire party was dedicated to her, it was getting harder and harder than normal to ignore Felicity, especially since ignoring her was the one thing that he normally hated to do. And still did, probably always would. And so he forced himself to smile, drink and mingle with the guests in his (Thea’s) club - it was her birthday after all. That didn’t mean that he didn’t keep his back to her for most of the evening. Her and Palmer. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. Not that it had ever worked before...

He didn’t have an excuse not to turn when Palmer called their attention by tapping on his champagne glass like he was calling a toast though, so Oliver brushed his fingers across the front of his shirt to dislodge non existent crumbs, purely to give himself something to do so he didn’t have to turn immediately (he would have straightened his suit jacket, but he had lost it sometime ago. He knew it was draped over the back of a chair somewhere - he just couldn’t remember which chair he’d draped it over or where that chair was). But just because he was watching, doesn’t mean that he had to listen.

He only started paying attention when Palmer dropped down onto one knee.

Oliver tried, he really did, to hear what Palmer was saying, but it wouldn’t stay, words buzzing through his brain, in one ear, out the other. But the few words that would stay in his head, it was impossible not to pull them apart mentally. Stupid Palmer, asking like _that_. Did he even want her to say yes? The clishé phrases, “I know it’s fast” and “life with you is my destiny“ stuck, probably because hearing them was something that he never thought he’d hear, especially not to Felicity Smoak. Because it _was_ fast, and because _that_ was honestly one of the worst things he’d ever heard. The venue he chose bugged him, because there were so many people, albeit all people who she loved and cherished, but so many eyes watching and judging and gasping, and her eyes were wide, like she was scared. The ring was wrong, bright and sparkly and big and exactly the opposite of what was right for Felicity. 

Of course, the biggest issue Oliver had with Ray’s proposal (not including the fact that it was Ray proposing, he ignored that fact as much as he could) was how he phrased the question. “Marry me, Felicity Smoak.” Palmer said with a smile, and the question sounded like an order. But there was no ‘please’, no question mark, not even in his voice. As though she was obliged to say yes. Like asking for Felicity to spend the rest of her life with him was nothing, as if it wasn’t something to beg and plead for. “Marry me” was wrong. “May I marry you?” would be far more fitting.

But Felicity, oh bless her dear sweet heart, she backed away, she eyes wide and scared, and turned on her heels.

“She’s overwhelmed.” Thea promised, her hand resting on Ray shoulder. “She’ll be in the bathroom. Give her a minute. It’s a lot to take in.” But Oliver turned, watching her retreating back. She wasn’t going to the bathroom, and Oliver knew that.

Ray didn’t know about the existence of the Arrow cave, after all. 

* * *

He waited for as long as he could, both giving her her space and trying not to seem all that suspicious. He only lasted for three minutes; well, two minutes and forty two seconds according to his watch.

She’d lent herself against her desk, staring at his cased suit, but her eye were far away, like she wasn’t seeing it. He made his steps louder so she would hear his approach, unwilling to scare her when she looked so fragile, clutching the tops of her arms in her sleeveless dress. She looked cold and tiny in the large underground room, and Oliver had to be grateful that he’d thought to spend the time he waited to follow her searching for his jacket. He leant against the desk beside her, wrapping the jacket around her shoulders and waited for her to realise that she wasn’t alone any more. It took her a second before she pulled the lapels closer around her.

“Thanks.” She sighed, tucking her head into collar, fluttering her eyes closed.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly, staring straight ahead, but watching her out of the corner of his eye. She shrugged once, fiddling with blonde curls that escaped the cute bun she’d tied her hair in after work. “Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Do you want me to go?” She shrugged again. “Do you want to go talk to Ray?”

“No!” She snapped, turning to him quickly with wide eyes. He watched her take one deep breath, her eyes locked with his before she turned away, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling, her lashes fluttering. “Sorry. But, not yet. I can’t talk to him yet.”

“It’s okay.” He nodded, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands under his arms, refusing to reach out and touch her. “I’ll… I’ll leave you be, then.”  

“No!” She cried again, her hand coming up to grip his arm as he started to move. He froze, staring down at her hand, feeling it warm through the fabric of his shirt. She let him go instantly. “Sorry.” She repeated quietly, burying her hands into the jacket he’d wrapped around her. “Just… Please stay. I know that it’s not fair of me to ask but please stay with me. I… Don’t leave me, Oliver.” He closed his eyes tightly, stepping back to stand in front of her, watching her intently until she met his eye.

“I’m not going to leave you, Felicity.” He told her, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers when that temptation to touch her decided to overwhelm him. “Not ever. I’m not going to just going to abandon you. I would never do that.” She nodded, one, two, three, four, five times in quick succession, and he watched the moisture gather in her eyes until they became glassy.

“I’m such an idiot.” She whimpered under her breath, chewing on her lip. “God, Oliver, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, what I’m doing, what I’m going to do...”

“Hey,” He sighed, drawing her chair over to her and offering it to her. She wrapped her arms around herself as she curled into the seat, wrapping his jacket around her legs and it swallowed her whole. He crouched down in front of her, and for the first time in months, he reached out to touch her, sliding the back of his fingers against the soft, damp skin of her cheek. “The one thing that you are not, Felicity Smoak, is an idiot.”

“I don’t know what to do, Oliver.” She repeated, folding in on herself. And he inhaled one of the deepest breaths that he’d taken since he returned from the island as he stood and deposited himself on the top of her desk, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over her eyes.

“Do you love him?” He asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the glass case, the same way she had. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with him? Do you want to marry him?” In the reflection on the glass, he watched her curl even tighter in on herself, pressing her hand against her heart.

“I don’t know.” She whispered quietly, pressing the back of her hand to her contacted eyes. “It’s fast and I barely know the guy and how the hell am I supposed to decide if I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but he’s good to me, and he loves me and I’m worried that I’m leading him on like this and-” She choked on her tongue, her words falling through her mouth so quickly that she almost couldn’t control them, and she brought a hand up to her throat, running in small circles when the blockage seemed to be. “I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a good guy, and I don’t think I could do any better, and I know how it feels… having someone you love break your heart.” She spoke both slower and quieter, slotting the words together carefully like a puzzle, glancing up at him curiously. “But it doesn’t _feel_  right. And I don’t know whether that will come with time or not, and if that’s a risk that I can take or not.”

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” He sighed, even uncertain on how he wanted her to answer. Unsure of what would hurt him more, her yes or no. He was uncertain on a lot of things these days. Really, the only thing that he was certain on was… well, _her_. Loving her, knowing that he’d always love her, was the only definite that he had. It was what he clung to while dodging bullets and jumping off buildings. One wrong step would kill him, and he’d always die with her in his heart, and he clung so tightly to the image of her smile or her bright eyes because he refused to let himself even touch her when he was near her.

“I don’t know, Oliver!” She snapped at him, finally looking up at him. And while her eyes still shone with her pain, there was still that edge to them, that hard glare that was so unemotional that it conveyed every emotion that she tried not to. She still hurt, the pain from the hospital corridor still hadn’t fully abandoned her, and he looked away from her then, the sharp reminder of why he’d spent so long avoiding her kicking him straight in the teeth.  It was the times like these when he couldn’t decide which hurt more; keeping his distance, or being so close to her and constantly having to remind himself not to do anything, no matter how much he wanted it. What was the point of clutching her as close as he could, loving her the way he wanted to, if she regretted it in six months time, bleeding out in his arms, fighting to live purely so she could get away from him? Desperate to do something, anything to reduce the pain he’d forced on her, he handed over his silk handkerchief, creased from where he’d shoved it in his pocket before he left. She slid it from his fingers with a quiet rasp of silk on flesh, wringing it between her fists before she used the monogrammed corner to dab at her tears, his initials shone in gold against her cheek.

She sniffed, returning to winding the fabric around her hands. “Hell, of all the people in the world, why am I having this conversation with you? Surely you’re the _worst_ person to talk to!”  

“Or maybe I’m exactly the person that you need to talk to.” Her eyes flicked to him, he watched it out of the corner of his eye, at the volume of his voice. Or the lack of it at least. “Because all I want is what’s best for you. And if that’s Ray than that’s great. And if it’s not, or it’s not what’s best for you right now, then we fix it. If you want that wedding then I’ll help you plan every detail if you want me to. I’d come. Hell, I think I could even walk you down the aisle, give you away, if it would make you happy. If that’s what I could do to make you happy.”

“Oliver…” Her compassion would get her killed one day, he was sure, because even after everything he had done to her, to her life, she still reached to comfort him. She led her hand over his hesitantly and he clung to her fingers as quickly and tightly as he could, wondering silently if he’d ever get to do it again.

“I think you should. Marry Ray, I mean.”

“What?” Her eyelashes fluttered in surprise, that small crinkle appearing in her forehead. “Why would you say that?” He smiled at her softly, wondering if she’s ever stop stealing his breath, his heart. He gritted his teeth behind that smile though, wondering just how much more of it she would take when she smiled at him for the first time in her wedding dress, someone else’s ring on her finger.

“Because you love him.” He groaned internally, because it sounded sad even to him. She already knew that he was sad, she didn’t need him to remind her. “I know you do. Even if you don’t want to admit it yet, because it scares you. More than anything. And I know how that feels. But you love him, I can see it in the way that you look at him. You used to look at me like that…” Scrubbing a hand across his face, Oliver pulled the conversation sideways, away from what he’d said, months ago. “You smile when you’re with him, a lot. You can technobabble together. He understands you. He loves you, so much. I can see that too.”

“Not as much as you do.” She told him gently.

“You never smiled like that with me.” He rehashed, watching her jaw wobble slightly. “I knew you for two years before you met him, and I never saw you smile half as much then as you have since you’ve been with him. I’d never make you as happy as he will. He loves you more.” He most certainly did _not_ , but that was definitely not what she needed to hear.

“You’re telling me to marry someone else, because it will make me happy.” For a genius, Felicity really did have a habit of pointing out the obvious. “How can he love me more than you?”

But Oliver shook his head. Because Palmer did love her, a lot apparently, enough to ask her to stay with him forever, even if the overall proposal was pretty crap. The man was pretty sensible, realising in under six months what it had taken Oliver two years to realise.

“Was it the crowd that spooked you?” He asked instead, pulling her attention away from him and back onto the subject at hand. She didn’t need to remember the day she agreed to marry the man of her dreams as the day she debated whether an old flame - or not even that, they hadn’t even had time to burn before he crumpled everything to ash at their feet - loved her more than the man down on his knee. “There were a lot of people up there. I know how you get in crowds, maybe it freaked you out and short circuited your brain. Fight or flight and all that?”

“There were a lot of people up there.” She agreed, nodding her head slowly. “All of them were looking at me, expecting a certain answer or they’d all see me as a heartless bitch and…”

“You weren’t sure if you could give the answer that they wanted to hear and mean it at the same time.” He nodded back, pulling the corners of his lips up when she looked up to met his eye. He locked his jaw, lungs burning as tears that he would not, for her own sake, let her see. “But you know what that answer is now. Don’t you?” He tried to fight it, tried to ignore that horrible ripping, gripping, shredding pull in the space where he thought he’d once had a heart as she nodded her head slowly.

Time up.

_время до_

He wondered briefly then, if he’d be able to fulfil that promise, if he’d even be able to attend that wedding, if it really would rip him to shreds, if those claws raking at his skin would do any damage at all, if it would feel any different, being in love with a married woman.

Was there something wrong with wishing it would crush all his hope? Maybe knowing there would never be a chance again of wrapping her up as close as he could and never letting her go would make it all go away.

He didn’t want to stop loving her, he knew, really, that he never would. But she’d stop loving him. Maybe she’d remember at odd times, once she’d stop working for the him, the Arrow, about the man in green leather who, maybe by that time was long dead, loved her enough to pretend that he didn’t. Who’d taken bullets for her and killed for her. Who would never stop loving her. Maybe he’d live long enough to met her children, to hold them and swear to love and protect them like he did their mother. Maybe she’d remember then, how much she’d once loved him and maybe she’d ponder at just how absurd that seemed.

There were a lot of maybes in Oliver Queen’s life. But her… Felicity had always been that one what if.

She stood slowly, but he refused to move. He stared at her seat, casually wondering what he’d do with it. He wouldn’t get rid of it, not ever, but it would never be used again. Not after she’d left them.

He didn’t want to think about how long that would take.

“Would it be weird to thank you?” She asked, wrapping her arms around herself tightly as she steadied herself on her unstable legs and ridiculously high heels. She wobbled, throwing both hands out to the sides to keep herself upright. And Oliver brought a hand up to grab her, hold her still so her stupid shoes didn’t get her killed. But she caught herself instead, standing surely on the stupid things with an embarrassed shrug. His hands faltered inches from the warmth of her skin, his jacket abandoned the chair again, and they stayed there, shaking slightly, colder than he’d been for a long time. And it had been a while since he’d been warm. She plowed on anyway, like nothing was wrong. “I don’t just mean for helping me with this, obviously. But for all this.” She waved her hand around, gesturing to the foundery and everything in it.

“I’m not the same person that I was when I first met you, and that’s because of all this. And even though I still have that odd moment here or there when I have no clue what the hell I’m doing - this being one of them - I know who I am now. I know what I’m capable of doing, of just where my moral compass points. And I don’t think I would have understood that much about myself as a person if I didn’t have you looking out for me.” She smiled softly, and even though his hand still hovered in the air, uncertain on whether he wanted to touch her or not, she reached out and slid her fingers against the skin of his temple, stroking down to the scruff on his cheeks. And his eyes flicked closed as he leant into her like a cat, breathing in the perfume at her wrist. _What if…_ “You’ve always been there for me Oliver. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

But he shook his head at her, her hand unmoving and his lips brushed the soft skin of her palm and scalded. The only thing that burned hotter had been the kiss he’d stolen from her.

“You don’t have to thank me.” But she shook her head at him.

“Oliver-”

“But,” His determined voice overlapped her quiet, pleading tone. And against all better judgement, he raised his hand, still suspended midair, to rest over hers against his face, holding her there with a grip she could shatter with a flick of her hair. “If you stay alive, stay happy… that’s all you have to worry about. Do everything that makes you happy. You don’t have to thank me, Felicity. You just need to live.”

"What do you think I'm doing?" She asked softly. “What do you think I have been doing? I have been living, I’ve been keeping you alive, keeping you safe. And you did the same for me. Protecting each other was the one thing that we were always good at, the one thing that we did without fail.”

“The first promise that I made Digg when you joined us was that we - _I_ \- could protect you.” He told her quietly, his eyes locked on the floor. “I’ve broken a lot of promises in my life, Felicity, but I’ll never break that one.” He brought her hand down from his face, clutching her left hand tightly in both of his, his thumb smoothing over the skin of her ring finger. “So, go.” He looked up then, smiling forcibly until she smiled back, her eyes wet but shining. “Say yes to Palmer. You of all people deserve to get that happily ever after, Felicity Smoak.”

“What about you?” She asked, bleeding with compassion and darkness invading her light. He shrugged, bringing her hand back up to press her hand to his cheek, kissing the inside of her wrist and burying his nose there. That life, that happiness, would never be his, he’d never kiss another person in his life if he had his way. She was his last. No one else, not for as long as he lived, would turn his head the way she had, no one else would he love deeper than his bones, until it was so intertwined with him, that to take it way would leave him hollow. Just her.  

“Take it, ‘Licity.” He whispered against her pulse, feeling her heart beat, staying there against the proof of her continued existence for as long as he could allow himself. “Take it for the both of us.”

She fell then, wrapping both her hands around his neck tightly and burying her nose against his neck, her shoulders shaking as she gasped, filling her lungs with as much oxygen as she could force down her tightening windpipe. Oliver copied her, bringing his hands up quickly to encircle her waist and shoulders, pulling her in as close as he could get her, his chin against her shoulder but his eyes closed.

“I love you.” She breathed against his skin, her fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders as she clung to him tighter than she ever had before. He clung to her tighter, branding those words, the way she said them, the way they fell against his scars. Once upon a time those words would have been a balm, blissfully gentle against the violence in his life. Now, they were knives, ripping and biting at his broken brain, torn between getting as far away from her as possible to make it stop, and getting as close to her as he could.

Oliver Queen lived in a nightmare of his own invention. One that he could never leave, and as she levered herself off of him, he sighed, thankful that she would never have to live as part of that terribly bad dream.

“Here.” She whispered, offering back the handkerchief. He wrapped his hand around her fingers and pushed her hand back gently.

“Nah, it’s alright.” He shrugged. “Keep it.”

It was odd, wanting her to keep the handkerchief. He’d given her far more splendid gifts in their three years as partners. Her phone, her tablet, earrings and necklaces, the odd dress here or there when situation called for it, and tech gallor. So many nicknacks that he’d seen and not been able to pass by the opportunity to make her smile. And then there were the not so splendid gifts. Nightmares and late nights, danger and scars and his mangled heart. Endless pain.

But that handkerchief…

She would walk out of this building with Ray’s gifts held tight and proud in her clutches. His ring and and promise of forever.

All Oliver had left to offer her was a tearstained handkerchief and his battered heart.

And she could only take one with her.

“You should get going.” He told her quietly, looking down at her feet to avoid her eyes. “We’ve been down here for a while, you don’t want your husband to start getting the wrong idea, do you?” He shrugged, trying to smile for her, but, yes, okay, it hurt to say that. It hurt one hell of a lot.

“Not my husband yet.” She whispered back, wringing her handkerchief between her fingers. And she turned her back.

Her footsteps stopped halfway to the stairs, and he knew the picture she would make without bothering to even look up. He recognized the scrape of her heel in the silent air, the rasp that meant she’d swiveled her weight, turning in place to face the way she had come. He didn’t hear her walk back to him, but he felt her warm fingers wrap around his wrist, her soft lips press against his forehead in the only goodbye she would ever say.

He didn’t bother to tell her he loved her. She knew that.

He wished he’d never told her.

And the door closed behind her, on the life that he’d dreamt about, that he still dreamt about, and he closed his eyes, wishing her every ounce of happiness that she deserved. He saw her then, happy in the future with a weathered ring in place on her finger, her brown hair children holding their own young, her heart still beating strong, a single scar on her shoulder in remnants of a past time in her life, of love, of loss, of friendships and families and the people who loved her, who took her into their heart until she was in their veins. A part of them. Their Team. The people they were.

That was gone now. John and Roy would hate him for that. Laurel would miss her, Sara would have punched him. And Felicity…

She’d forget. Move on. _Live_.

He’d make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translates as 'time up' apparently.  
> TLPV Xx


End file.
